ok i’m curious as to why the teen wolf boys picked those specific numbers for their jerseys. people don’t usually just pick random numbers, it’s usually something that has a meaning. so, here’s my headcanons as to why they picked these jerseys.
scott: number 11. it’s his favorite number. he honestly just liked the way the ones look next to each other. now, he kind of wishes it was sentimental, but he picked it when he was a kid and now he’s stuck with it. he thinks it has its own form of nostalgia, though.
stiles: number 24. his moms birthday. she was born on the 24th and he didn’t want to be basic and pick his own birthday, so he picked hers. after she died, he was really grateful he had decided on that and was even more intent on keeping it.
isaac: number 14. it was his brothers number. camden played lacrosse in addition to being on the swim team, and that was the number he used. isaac doesn’t know why his brother picked that, but it was his lucky number, so it’s important to isaac.
jackson: number 37. it’s his lucky number. when he was younger and first training for lacrosse, his highest streak of goals made without missing was 37. since then, he has definitely surpassed that, but it reminds him of what it felt like to be successful and a great lacrosse player. so, he keeps it as his jersey number.
liam: number 9. his birthday is the 9th. he picked it when he was a kid because it’s easy to remember and it’s specific to him. pretty simple.
kira: number 15. she was very nervous about picking a number, so she asked malia to do it for her. malia picked 15 randomly. so, even though it doesn’t really have significance, kira feels like it connects her to her friends.
Welcome to the MONEY Series, where I draw up how rich everybody is. Here, I estimate how rich all the TRR LIs are because literally everyone likes cash, not just me. Note, I used dollars because they’re easiest to understand.
Liam: I could have a single brain cell and still be able to tell you that Liam is rich as ****. This wonderful man is a royal, and a royal with actual geopolitical and economic power at that. This dude owns a palace . . . and a private royal estate
(Applewood) . . . and his own private honeymoon island. Now, many royals with actual power have private investments generating income, like the royals of Liechtenstein, Monaco, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, etc. I can only assume Liam and the Cordonian royal family is the same. Liam definitely has those business assets, land, houses, royal jewels/art/regalia that he’s going to drape us in. This dude is RICH af. He’s most likely in one of the top royal families of Europe money wise, seeing as Cordonia does a lot of rich people business like wineries and casinos and luxury vacation crap.
NET WORTH: $1 billion to $1.8 billion
Maxwell: What our beautiful sweet boy here lacks in brain cells, he makes up for in money. Sort of. Now, as a lord, he’d be rich by default, but let’s remember that House Beaumont is broke like the rest of us. Second of all, Bertrand most likely got most of the inheritance and control on the purse strings (thank god he did on the last one). However, Maxwell did kind of write a hit bestseller book about us, so we’ll have to give him that.
NET WORTH: $15 - $30 million (Bertrand probably has more. Combined, the entire House Beaumont has about $250 million in total assets from EVERYTHING, not including debts and liabilities, cause that would just get too darn depressing. As a side note, many ducal families get income from agriculture and other activities on their lands, as well as real estate portfolios all across Europe, so I factored this in.)
Hana: Okie. This can get tricky. Looking at all the stuff about her, it’s pretty safe to say that most of the money behind Hana is tied up in her parents, especially her dad’s business in Hong Kong. So, I’m estimating her mom, good ol’ Lorelei’s lands and fortunes, which will definitely go to her. That earldom is smaller than House Beaumont’s duchy, so I factored it in.
NET WORTH: $159 million (worth of earldom)
Drake: Okay, I’m going to be real. Did Drake ever really have a job before the whole Royal Council thing? Or did he mooch off of Liam and the royal family? My guess is the latter. Now, I’m going to go ahead and estimate that the salary is like $180k. But he’s been on there for like a month. That’s two paychecks.
NET WORTH: $13,800, the amount of two paychecks. (I mean, it really should be like two bucks after he buys the finest whiskey money can buy cause boy does this man like his whiskey)
So, about a month ago the news played a story about podcasts and I almost immediately thought of Liam having a podcast of his own. I thought further about it and this is what I came up with.
-I feel like his podcast would kinda be all over the place, but in an organized type of way or something.
-Like, it works, but you aren't sure how or why it does.
-There is no real consistent theme or topic for it as a whole.
-One episode he'll be talking (or ranting) about, lets say fashion, then the very next one it'll be the obscurest of obscure manga and anime that most hardcore fans probably don't even know about.
-You could call it a variety podcast, I guess.
-never talks about the same topic within at least 3 weeks of the last time he talked about it.
-Sometimes he'll have a guest or two
-Guests can be either friends (most likely) or some random person no one knows but they seem to know a lot on the topic.
-He only uploads to an app called Anchor.
-Doesn't monetize his podcast.
-It's surprisingly entertaining to listening to, even if you have no idea whats going on.
-TBH, most fans probably only listen because they like his voice.
It was curious how the best things always turned into the worst. Any anti-hero in a movie could tell her that. The innovative artist turned into an unoriginal hack. The site of her happiest memories turned into the sit of her worst.
It had been a long time since Simone had seen the cathedral this full. There had been her wedding of course, where the pews were set to burst - and the doors as well from all the people pressing on them. There had been the coronation of her and Liam’s son, where the choir filled the stands with heavenly song.
And now, it was this. People crammed inside the hallowed hall and the land around it, mourning at the king’s funeral
It was never supposed to be this way, Simone thought bitterly, trying not to let the curious mix of grief and rage flit across her face. He was never supposed to go like this.
And it wasn’t like anyone expected Liam to. She surely hadn’t. It had been a simple state visit, though a little more fraught. Auvernal had been up to their old tricks again, strong-arming the region to bend it to their own will. King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella had been quite vigilant. Too much so.
There was a tug at her sleeve, and Simone looked down into the face of her son. Liam’s son. The fact was more evident every day, with the cathedral light dappling off the fine gold hair that was Liam’s trademark, framing a beautiful set of blue eyes that was all too familiar. A sob rose up in her throat.
“I want to go home,” Fabian whispered, averting her eyes. “Please, can we go home?”
Simone hesitated, the overwhelming desire to pick up her son and walk out of the cathedral crashing down on her. But no, she had to be strong. Liam deserved a proper good-bye at the very least.
“I know, darling,” she whispered back, giving his hand a little squeeze away from the cameras. “But this is for your father. Stay strong, little one.”
His lip quivered, but he said nothing.
Simone leaned back on her seat, watching the steady row of choir singers file in somberly, pale hands clutching at their hymn books. It was a sight she’d seen before at other ceremonies, but it was a welcome distraction from the other thing sucking everyone’s attention in. In the middle of the cathedral on a raised dais draped with royal cloths and regalia and flowers, was a gilded casket emblazoned with the royal crest.
And then the memories began.
“Are you sure it’s going to be safe?” Simone asked out of earshot, careful to not let passing nobles hear. “You know Auvernal’s been a bit . . . off lately.”
“Nothing will happen,” Liam assured, his voice the same level and confident tone usually reserved for press briefings and security meetings. “They wouldn’t touch a foreign leader. It’s basically begging for a war.”
“But even still,” she pleaded as she lay a hand on his shoulder. “You have to promise me.”
Liam gazed at her for a moment, then pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
“I promise, my queen,” he said. “I’ll be back in three days.”
“And if you don’t?”
He gave a faint smile and stepped closer, cupping her face and leaning in so close their noses nearly touched.
“I’ll always come back,” he whispered, pressing a slower, more tender kiss onto her lips this time. “You have my word.”
Simone sighed, burying her face for a split second into his suit, breathing in the scent of his aftershave and the sweeter afternote that was distinctly him. With one last kiss, they parted.
“Fabian and I will be waiting for you,” she said as she escorted him to the jet waiting nearby. “He wants to visit Valtoria for a bit. I think the horses there have taken a liking to him.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”
And with one quick peck on the cheek, Liam was gone, walking up the steps of the plane for yet another diplomatic trip. Or should she say, his last one.
The grief welling up turned into a hot flash of rage again, and Simone clenched her hand so hard that the perfectly manicured nails dug tiny crescent moons into her palm.
It had been less than an hour after takeoff when she’d gotten the call. It was a dull meeting she had been socked away in, something about an NGO visit or authorizing new university equipment.
Liam was gone.
At exactly forty three minutes after takeoff, the royal jet had burst into flames, spiraling down towards the crystal blue sea and marring the beautiful waters with black clouds of belching smoke and acrid fuel. Once Simone had gotten over the initial shock, she’d assumed, like so many others did, that it had been a malfunction. Perhaps the fuselage had shorted or the engine failed or something that could be explained.
Instead, it had been a pair of fighter jets peeling away from the scene, with the crests of Auvernal so clearly emblazoned on their wingtips.
Bradshaw and Isabella had been frantic. The Cordonian State Department had been fielding calls from them and their officials, desperate to explain the situation. A mistake, they’d called it. Their forces had thought the royal jet of the Cordonian monarch to be a trespasser of all things and shot it down. Oh how wrong they were. Oh how they would pay.
There was a warm wet feeling, and Simone vaguely noticed it was a tear. She wiped it away just as a camera flashed and she cursed under her breath. That photo would be plastered across the front page of every major newspaper of every major country the next morning. The mourning queen, they would call her. She would prove them wrong.
He had been such a kind man, a loving and gentle king and husband and father. But where had that gotten him? A gilded casket in a cathedral surrounded by regalia and flowers and the broken face of his beloved wife who could do nothing but watch.
And next to her would be his son, just shy of his seventh birthday who now had all the weight of crown and country placed on his dainty shoulders. He was far too young for such a crushing burden.
Simone gritted her teeth, unable this time to quell the rage and let the expected grief play out on her face. Liam had played nice - he always had. And now what were they? A broken family and a broken country. Someone had to pay.
War, maybe? Yes, war seemed like the only chance at vengeance. Auvernal had to settle their debts. She would make them.
As Simone gazed upon the casket again, hard resolve began to grow, her mouth setting into a hard and grim line.
The queen would go to war. And she would bring all the fury and strength behind her to the fight.
- For all their goodwill, the king and queen of Cordonia weren’t invincible.
- Nothing could stop an assassin’s bullet. Thankfully, it wasn’t your own people that turned against you. No, it came during a foreign visit, when rebels, weary of their own country’s leader, sought to take him down, but killed you by accident.
- The world was stunned. An event like this never happened. Not since a century ago. A royal, gunned down on the international stage, her husband mourning in front of millions.
- By all outward appearances, Liam was coping. He stood straight and firm all throughout your state funeral, dressed in mourning black and royal regalia. Everything was the same, just without the woman at his side, who had become an icon all her own.
- But inside, Liam was cracking. You had been the center of his world, the only thing keeping him tethered back to earth and not being a full workaholic. You were there for him on the nights he struggled, kissed him under the falling rain, tenderly danced with him in private at every gala, every ball.
- His work grew manic. Every night, his bed was clean and unslept in. If you weren’t there to hold him back, what was? He had never taken you for granted, but to him, it almost felt like he did.
- The people noticed the shift. The king became erratic, more hostile, rarely seen at public events. It was like they’d lost both royals instead of one.
- Liam still kept your wedding rings in a locked compartment in his desk. The glittering diamond in your engagement ring was no match for the brightness of your smile, and he soon realized that. It only brought harsh memories. The ring was sealed away in the royal vaults, never to be opened again.
- He had a new ritual too. Every single night, just as the clock hit midnight, he would meander to the palace hall where all the portraits and statues of leaders past were placed. Liam would give a quick prayer and salute to the newest portrait - the one of you, and stand vigil for ten minutes - one for each year you’d spent together.
- Five years passed, then ten. Your children with him grew into princes and princesses of their own. And still, Liam grieved. Still, he made that nightly walk to your portrait, thought of you daily, never remarried out of respect for your memory.
- But this wasn’t what you would have wanted.
- Liam realized that a little late. The diagnosis came too soon - cancer of the lung, just like Constantine. It ran in the family, he guessed. At first, he welcomed it. He would be with you again, after all.
- Construction began on a cliff just overlooking the sea.
- A beautiful miniature castle, complete with shining spires and glass mosaic, a rising testament of the tragic royal love that had gripped a nation.
- Spring came. Flowers bloomed. The castle lay finished. And inside, a king and queen were laid to rest, side by side.
- Being a queen wasn’t all luxury trips and photo opportunities. Though some days, you would have liked nothing else than to relax all your days with your king, it took work to keep the crown on your head.
- It was ironic that sometimes, your hours were longer than the ages old waitressing gig in Manhattan. Your day would start at dawn when Liam first began rousing himself, then end well over midnight as you pored over papers, proposals, menial things, and of course, the occasional dedication of a castle in your honor.
- Travel was a must. Soon after his reign began, Liam insisted on a diplomatic tour. And you, the dutiful queen, accompanied him, learning diplomacy on the fly while reclining with champagne in a private jet.
- One of your favorite trips had been to Croatia. After a few days of successful negotiations, you and Liam stayed in one of the coastal villas for a few days. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before in Cordonia, but it was a welcome respite after so many hard days. You gladly took it.
- The close second was the ball with the European royals, jetting in from all corners of the continent. Princess Marguerite of Monaco was lovely, if not a little subdued, but you and Meghan Markle appeared to get along wonderfully. At least you could scratch that one off of your bucket list, which you made just for that moment on the plane trip there.
- Having the royal status meant the royal treatment. It was twice now that you and Liam had visited Paris, the first being the engagement tour, the second to broker some trade deals with France. The two of you were settled up in the famous Parisian Shangri-La, where you woke up to French press coffee and roses and the view of the Eiffel stretching out right in front of you.
- The downsides were definitely there though. No longer could you meander through a European street and take the cheesy photos that your inner American so desperately wanted you to do. There was the constant tailing by your bodyguards, the recognitions and photos being taken every block or so, the stares from genuine American tourists shocked to be so close to a real royal.
- The only upside was people calling you, Your Majesty, which was but a small benefit to the whole situation.
- You finally understood why the tabloids went crazy covering the latest crown jewels that royals donned. They were gorgeous. You felt a little guilty, flaunting seventy carat diamond rings and priceless tiaras in front of Marguerite, whose own had just been stolen in the most curious heist, but the beauty was absolutely dazzling. Paired with the fact it was basically your duty to present the “treasures of Cordonia” as they called it, it was one of the best factors of the job.
- But in the end, the royal duties boiled down to two things. The heart and the people.
- The heart was the easy part. There was your golden king beside you, his leonine smile greeting his people and every camera around the world to see. You had given your heart to him all those years ago in a Manhattan dive bar, and he still had it.
- The people were the harder part. There were thousands of them, a few million in Cordonia to be exact. But they were Liam’s lifeblood, and you worked to make them your own as well. For was that not what a queen was supposed to do? To care for the people, to lead them, to invigorate them. That was what crown on your head meant.
- And every day, hand in hand with the man you loved, you took up the duties of the thrones, crowns gleaming and hands at the ready.
Though it’s not to say he doesn’t like his partners wearing lingerie for him. He just has a bit more fondness for costumes, though as he grows older he finds he likes lingerie a bit more.
